Clothing Calamities
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Draco never expected taking a relationship to the next level could bring so much trouble. Who expects wearing each other's clothes to be an obstacle anyway? He still can't find it in himself to object to Ron's wishes when he uses that gruff voice of his.
1. Shirt

Clothing Calamities

_**Shirt**_

**AN: I was going to name this either: "Clothing Calamities" or "Clothing Catastrophes". My blanky-chan decided "Calamities" was the better one of the two, so if you've got any problems with, blanky-chan is the one you should be complaining to ! Can I also just say that this site does not have enough space for proper summaries ? I LOVE this site with all my heart, but I cursed at the summary box, because honestly, 255 characters, _really_? Phu !**

**ORIGINAL SUMMARY: ****Draco never expected taking a relationship to the next level could bring so much trouble – because honestly, who expects wearing each other's clothes to be a hindrance? Even with that knowledge in the back of his head, Draco can't find it in himself to object to the redhead's wishes when Ron uses that wonderfully gruff voice of his – he is after all, just another fool for love.**

**WARNING: mentions and indications of sex, discribing of naughty bits and naughty words... but other than that, pretty T I think...  
**

**This is part one of three ^-^**

There is no time to go change and Draco Malfoy cannot find his shirt. Even though he has found many perks to sleeping with Ronald Weasley, he has to say that the boy's apparent addiction with simply _ripping_ the clothes off Draco's body as a means of getting them off, is proving to be hazardous for his immaculate sense of fashion.

Also, he might note that there is nothing _funny_ about having to either sneak around the Gryffindor dorm _before_ dawn in search of his clothes, or _after_ everyone has already left for breakfast.

He is about to throw a fit when the Weasley comes up behind him to hug his waist, pulling him into that ridiculously broad chest of his. The scent of _Ronald _and _sex_ clouds Draco's head and for a moment he can forget that he is supposed to be pissed off and if he kind of leans back into the embrace, it is _not_ his fault.

"You can borrow one of mine," the redhead offers, voice particularly soft, cooing in Draco's ear so that hot air brushes past and makes him shudder, "I promise I'll find your shirt after class."

"You better freckles, or you're not getting any for a week," the threat lacks any actual bite, but then Draco is suddenly reminded that his shirt is _gone_ and it's _too late _to return to the Slytherin dorm before classes, and well, Weasley is just plain ignorant if he thinks he has any chance of getting Draco to wear his shirt, "I _can't_ wear your shirt Weasley, you know that very well!"

"Why not?" Ron blinks sheepishly, burying his nose into the crook of Draco's neck lovingly, "It's part of the uniform, just like yours."

"Freckles, it's fucking sexy that you're broad like this," he turns, but only so he can touch Ron's chest as a manner of elaboration—indicating the wide span of it, refusing to admit that he really just wants to nuzzle into it and hold the taller boy close, "But it also means that I could fit your clothes twice."

"Don't really matter," he murmurs now, in that sleep-sick voice that makes Draco's skin crawl. There is no denying what they have when Ron talks to him like that, because it makes the fact that they've come to the point in their relationship where they don't just _fuck_ but actually _spend the night_, painfully clear. A big hand comes up to cup his pale cheek and he meets Ron's hazy blue eyes, which he _will not_, ever, describe as _beautiful_—even if they truly are, "You know how much I like it when you wear my shirt baby, it's so gorgeous."

"It's gorgeous when I'm naked underneath and you can fuck me into a desk," Draco rolls his eyes—he has seen what effect a too-big shirt and nothing underneath has on Ronald, and though it's indeed very pleasurable, he cannot guarantee himself it will be the same way if he is forced to wear trousers and a tie—Ron likes him best when he is wearing less clothing, never _more_, and the fact that every top Ron owns looks like a dress on the blonde, makes _more_ redundant, which is why Ron likes it so much, "Not when used as an actual shirt."

"Don't be ridiculous," his tone is almost condescending, as if he is scolding a toddler, and Draco scowls up to him—then Ron is smiling goofily and Draco thinks that might be the death of his fierce glare, "With trousers as tight as yours there will hardly be a difference. Besides, if you think I'm going to let your run around the school _half-naked_, you have another something coming!"

That makes Draco smile a little, because Ron is nothing if not possessive, but feeling like he _belongs_, feels damn good every now and then.

"Fine Weasley, I will wear your shirt," he pretends to be exasperated but when he tugs Ron's waist into his own using a belt-loop, it is immediately made clear that he's only faking, "But I better be getting a reward."

Ron grins rather mischievously, and if there's one thing good about dating a Gryffindor, that sort of messed up bravery must be it, "You want your reward now or later?"

Draco thinks that rationally, _later_ would be the way to go, but then again he always thinks rationally, and how can he say _later_ and mean it when Weasley is fucking standing _right there_ in nothing but his damn jeans. There is nothing sexier than Weasley in just his jeans—except for maybe Weasley naked and panting with his cock hard and dripping, his chest heaving and his mouth slack, moaning over and over again: _"Draco, Draco!"—_and with his ridiculously broad chest and his stupid freckled neck, Draco finds himself muttering: "_now_," and though he knows that might just get them in some time-related problems, he also knows that it will be worth it.

And hell, that's good enough for him.

* * *

Draco gets into Care of Magical Creatures five minutes late. Logically, it would have been Ron that ran five minutes late, since that half-oaf was all for the redhead, but since his stupid too-big shirt had given Draco quite some issues—using the loo was not as damn easy with a shirt almost reaching your _knees_—he was the one late. Luckily, the professor is nowhere in sight, and instead all the students are just happily chattering, though they abruptly stop when they see Draco.

It is a warm day, and instead of wearing the courtesy jacket, Draco has settled for the shirt—it covers him in a cuddly way that resembles Ron, really, and is warm and thick—rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. His hips are a little broader than the redhead's, so there, the shirt is better-fitting, even if it happens to cover his ass completely. He has done up his tie as good as he could, but doing it too tight means accentuating the size of the shirt, so Draco decided to keep it relatively loose. All in all, he thinks that maybe, _just maybe_, the shirt will work out just fine for him.

But then he realises everyone is staring at him and he understands that it's all gone to hell. Still, he simply glares and makes his way to his friends—Pansy makes a little cheering sound and Blaise turns with a scowl, obviously _very_ displeased at his tardiness.

"_Finally_!" the black boy screeches exasperated—and even more heads turn their way. Vaguely, Draco sees Ron's ginger hair from the corner of his eye, and knowing that his handsome face had been buried in Draco's lap not twenty minutes ago made him grin inwardly, "What _took_ you so long Dray, you even missed breakfast and—" it's not until Blaise halts that Draco raises an eyebrow delicately. He shifts his bag on his shoulder and waits for his best friend to continue, "...what are you wearing?"

"Excuse me?" Draco blinks, fake-innocent. To be honest, he expected something different from his friend, as he was sure Blaise would scold him for not bringing a jacket with him, "It's called a _shirt_ Blaise."

"It's not _your_ shirt," Blaise remarks in his isn't-it-obvious tone. One hand flies to his hip, and Pansy scowls when she realises the boy is right, "Why are you wearing someone else's shirt!"

"You're delusional," the blonde rolls his eyes, pursing his lips because he knows that means good things for his friend's cock and when good things are meant for Blaise's cock, he loses his wits, "This is mine."

"No it's not," Blaise stalks closer to him, and though Draco is a Malfoy, he still feels a little intimidated. He has that look in his eye that either means he's horny or out for murder, and neither are very appealing to Draco, _honestly_, because Blaise's ass might be superb, he is a walking cliché and the Weasley is the only man Draco wants, "And is that—" an outraged gasp breaks from his lips and he tucks at Draco's collar which—due to the largeness of the shirt—opens easily, revealing part of his chest to the entire population of sixth grade Gryffindors and Slytherins, and with that, a collective gasp follows Blaise's, "IT ARE HICKEYS!"

Once more, Draco rolls his eyes because with the sight Blaise is giving their classmates, he has no doubt they already knew that. Though he sees that odd sort of pride that also shines in the redhead's eyes whenever he has done something that particularly pleases Draco, he also knows Ron has not told his friends about his liking towards men—or _Slytherins_, for that matter—and he is not as cruel as to let them find out like this.

"DRACO!" Pansy downright _shrieks_, and Draco feels an inane urge to cover his ears, "Who did this!"

The blonde buttons up the shirt back to deemed perfection, before shooting a glare Pansy's way.

"That is none of your business," when Blaise raises his hand to touch the flaps of the shirt, he swats it off, hissing: "don't bloody touch that."

"Well you have love bites on your arse!" Blaise pouts, and then snatches up the seam of the shirt to prove his point—dark hickeys bruised on his lower back, "You're having sex and you're not telling me!"

"You're having sex?" Pansy's eyes widen and she makes a noise close to a sob, "That can't be!"

"Will the both of you _shut up_!" he hisses and the rest of the class seems to be shaken a bit, backing off at his tone, "Blaise, here, _now,_" there is only one way to get an excited Blaise to listen, and that is by pinching his ear and dragging him off, _hard_.

So the Gryffindors and remaining Slytherins get to watch Blaise Zabini bitch and groan as he is pulled away from the group, until they are well out of hearing distance and Draco releases him. It is quite obvious that the Malfoy is enraged, and they see him flaying his arms around in a terribly uncomposed way, pointing to the group and then his chest and just generally causing the slightly taller raven to shrink down in fright.

When he is apparently done fuming, Blaise replies and gets a slap to the back of his head. Just like that, their conversation comes to an end. Draco returns to the other Slytherins—face its usual mask of cold and uncaring. His friend follows with a pout and when Pansy opens her mouth to speak, Draco cuts her off with a bitter: "don't even think about it," which seems to work excellently.

The class continues to stare until a well-pointed glare scares them off and they return to their conversations. Ron finds Draco's eyes and smiles, only to receive a wink in return.

Draco thinks that although the trouble he has to go through with Blaise each time might not be worth it, but for some _ridiculous_ reason, he was _in love_ with that damned Weasley and that meant that whenever he used that fucking _sexy_ gruff voice there was nothing Draco could do but comply.

And if wearing the shirt and dodging Blaise's annoying questions meant that he would get to ride that stupid freckle-face all night long, he would do it, hands down.

**AN: so erm... this is a oneshot in three parts. Or does one call it a threeshot at that point ? Next up are "Jacket" and "Jersey", but I'll want some reviews so I know whether I should bother updating or not. Yeah, reviews make the motor run baby, so beg for it !**


	2. Jacket

_**Jacket**_

"Won't you be cold?" it is too early on a Saturday-morning. The red blinds of the four-poster are drawn shut tightly, a spell sealing them together easily. He has the blankets firm around his hips and holding them up to his chest because the dorm is freezing, though he knows the fire is still roaring downstairs in the common room. Though he has those strong arms wrapped around his body, and a warm chest pressing into his back, he can already feel the chill squirming its way up under his skin, "Take my jacket baby, I don't want you to be cold."

"Well if you'd hold me tighter maybe I wouldn't be so cold," Draco scolds and feels the effect of his words immediately. Ron accommodates his legs around Draco's so they are meshed together absolutely _everywhere_, and he can feel Ron's morning erection against his lower back but it's _okay_, "Your friends will know I'm wearing your jacket Ronald. They're not thick enough not to recognise your clothing."

"I don't care," a soft kiss is pressed to Draco's shoulder and he shivers, but not from the cold, "They can know."

"Don't say it like that," Draco turns to face the redhead, his look stern, even more so when he only sees complete honesty swirling in Ron's eyes, "I might be foolish enough to think you're serious."

There is a dry chortle, but Ron's eyes don't shift and Draco feels his heart go _thud_thump_thuck_ and the innuendo is so thick he thinks he might be losing it.

"I am serious," his voice is so far from joking, it's not even funny anymore. The apparent shock for once seeps into Draco's reflexion and immediately Ron grasps his face, keeping it turned to him and then he does that thing where he kisses Draco's forehead and it makes him feel so _loved_, but at the same time, he wants to burst into tears, "Draco, I'm _serious._ I don't care if they see you in my sweater, because it's just damn sexy and I like seeing you and knowing that whatever you do, you have to think of me because I'm there in that stupid clothing-item," he blushes at his own words but Draco smiles because maybe they're both just as sentimental, and even if it's a little giddy, that's who _they_ are, "Please wear my jacket?"

He turns properly so he can link his hands together behind Ron's back, pressing himself into the big chest, the arms encompassing him completely, and in that moment, he is no longer cold.

They kiss and Draco's hands grasp onto the freckled back, dragging him in even closer because if all he has to offer is this, he wants to feel it all until the very last second.

Ron helps him into the jacket after he's finished dressing properly. It's never very wise to walk around Hogwarts completely naked, no matter what time it is, so he wears his black slacks and t-shirt, slipping into his sneakers before lacing them up properly. He's about to bid his farewells when he feels the heated naked chest slide into his back and then the arms are back around his waist. A kiss is pressed to his temple before Ron takes one hand and slips it into the too-big sleeve of his old, grey jacket.

It's comfortable and smells like Ronald.

That night—or well, early morning—when he returns to his own bed, he strips naked and then wears it to cover his bare flesh. He falls asleep hugging himself around his waist and in his dreams it's almost like that stupid Weasley is _right there_.

When he wakes up, he believes it too, for just a minute. He has his smell in his nose and his taste on his lips. But then he remembers it's just the jacket and it almost makes him want to curse the damn thing, before he remembers that this means he gets to smell like Ronald all day.

He knows it shouldn't make him smile.

It does anyway.

They gather outside the main entrance for the roll-calling and he arrives a little late—having sex until three in the morning and then getting up at five to make sure not to wake any Gryffindors is proving not to be very sustaining for his sleeping habits—zipping up Ronald's jacket all the way to the top. He's not willing to go into another discussion with Zabini about his love bites, and this time, he is _sure_ Blaise won't notice the strange sweater. It's one of Ron's tighter ones—which make his arm muscles bulk in the most delicious way, and frames his tight belly just perfectly—and isn't all that much too big. It could pass off as Draco's own, hands down.

He has barely passed the all-too-familiar group of Gryffindors when Blaise points a finger at him and howls: "turn your ass right back inside mister!" marching over with a determined look on his face.

Potter looks up at the commotion and Pansy makes attempts to follow Blaise before she's stopped by Crabbe and Goyle with a knowing look.

"What is it this time Zabini?" Draco snaps, burying his hands in the pockets of Ron's sweater. He inhales deeply and wants to smile as the comforting smell fills his senses, but he refrains at Blaise's firm look.

"That is not your sweater!" the black boy seethes, "We're going to Hogsmeade and I demand you dress properly!"

"I _am_ dressed properly," Draco reasons, cuddling the fabric, "Besides, it's damn cold! You're wearing a jacket as well!"

"Yes," Blaise hisses, "My _own_ Marc Jacobs jacket! What's that, an authentic _Wizzmart_?"

His voice is mocking and demeaning and plain damn _cruel_ and though Draco logically knows Blaise has no idea the jacket is Ron's, he's still angry that his best friend would insult his lover like that—though he knows just as well that there's a fat chance Ron did indeed get the jacket at Wizzmart.

"Fuck you," Draco retaliated, "It's none of your business where I get my clothes!"

"It is my business when you get them off someone else!" Blaise snatches at the hood, "As if your father would buy you something of such derogatory fabric!"

"Oh fuck this, I can't do this," Draco positively _growls_, unzipping the jacket and whirling around so fast it makes Blaise dizzy. He stomps over to Ron quite gracefully, pushing the jacket into the redhead's hands, Potter's eyes wide, "I know it's all sorts of sexy when I wear your stuff and as much as I really don't care to admit it, freckles, I love having your scent on me all day but I'm not going to suffer through another headache brought on by that bitch's nagging just so you can be sure I don't catch a cold," he huffs, hugging himself tightly, "I promise I will make it up to you later, _fuck_,you _know_ I will, but right now, I'm afraid this is as sexy as it's going to get."

Ron smiles softly, ignores Harry strategically, and holds the sweater to his chest.

"Don't worry about it," he says, "maybe next time."

Draco nods approvingly and returns to his friend, who stands there, looking at the Gryffindors in shock, long after the blonde has rejoined the other Slytherins.

**AN: yeah... wall mart. What can I say? For a writer, I can hardly be called creative éh.**


	3. Jersey

_**Jersey**_

Ron arrives in the Gryffindor dorm at ten to eleven, all his bones heavy with sleep and his eyes slipping shut every two seconds. The only reason he gets there properly is because Harry is _still_ talking to him about tomorrow's game, constantly giving him last-minute tips.

He thinks nothing of the drawn-shut blinds of his bed, until he has stripped—too tired to redress in his auburn pyjamas—says his goodnights to his friends, and carefully peals back one red curtain.

Draco Malfoy is on his bed, outstretched comfortably with his head propped up on his hand, leaning on one elbow. He faces away from Ron, but looks back over his shoulder with a feral grin when he hears the sound of the blinds being pulled back.

What _really_ gets to Ron though, is the fact that he's clad solely in Ron's very own Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, the fabric covering a milky side and half of a revealed arse.

And hell if that perky behind isn't simply _begging_ for a little attention.

Seeing his own name on his blonde lover's back—scribbled in golden thread on the jersey—is always nice, but he makes it his goal to make sure that body has his name covering it in a slightly different manner come morning.

Afterwards, as they are regaining their breaths, the jacket rests still around Draco's body, now reeking of _Ronald!_ and _Drake!_ combined. He smiles sleepily, and when Ron begs him: "baby, please wear my jersey to the game tomorrow," he complies, only half aware of his surroundings anymore.

In the morning Draco takes pity on Ron, knowing he is too sleep-deprived, and slips out of the bed in complete silence. He takes off the jersey to dress, but does not forget his worn-out promise, and takes the jersey with him as he leaves.

They are having breakfast in the great hall with sleep in their eyes, last night's Quidditch training too intense for a last rerun before the big game. Harry knows he might have worked his players too hard but he does not care, they need a strong hand to guide them, really, some discipline will do them good.

So when Ron shows up at the table without his Quidditch jersey, it's an understatement to say that the raven is livid. He holds in as much of his anger as is humanly possible, because he knows it would be a bad idea to yell at his friend right before the game, since that would definitely cause a decrease in his self-confidence.

"Ron," he begins timidly, the redhead sleepily buttering up some toast while scooping sausage into his plate with his other hand, "you're not wearing your Gryffindor jersey."

"Hn?" Ron replies articulately, looking up briefly before he continues shoving his mouth with food, "I kno'"

"You..." Harry's eye twitches and on the other side of Ron, Ginny gives her brother a warning poke in the side of his arm, alerting him of Harry's distress. Ron looks up sheepishly, just in time to see his friend's nostrils flare dangerously, "forgot your jersey _on purpose_?"

His voice is dangerously calm. Ron shrugs, and Hermione's eyes widen. Harry seems to be on the verge of a mental-breakdown and _shrugging_ is not doing any good whatsoever.

"I don't have it," Ron explains through his mouthful, "I—"

Before he can continue his surely most-interesting explanation, a whisper goes over Gryffindor table, and heads turn to the entrance. Soon everyone's eyes are on a Slytherin blonde, who just waltzed in wearing a red-and-golden Quidditch jacket.

He looks around uncaringly, before his eyes spot Ron and he smirks.

Harry shrieks: "he _stole_ your jacket!" looking over at Ron, enraged, "Why didn't you tell me! We would've gotten it back in no time!"

"Surely he didn't _know_ who took it," Ginny tries reasoning, looking expectantly at his brother, "but now that we know where it is, you should go get it."

"We'll all go," Harry cuts in bravely, "That lousy Malfoy, stealing _our_ jackets, I'll teach him a little something!"

Draco's eyebrow rises delicately as he catches those last few words. Everyone has turned to him in utter shock, following his tall and slim figure as it saunters over to the particular Gryffindors. The Quidditch jersey is loose around his shoulders, left open with the golden seams reaching halfway his arse. The name on the back, so Ginny and all other passed Gryffindors can see clearly now, reads '_Ronald B. Weasley'_ in embroidered golden letters. Hermione gapes at his nerves, coming up to them like that and Ginny glares.

"What was that Potter?" Draco demanded silkily, eyes mocking.

Harry snaps: "Malfoy! How dare you—" but then Ron is standing and everyone is hoping for a fight so the raven shuts up immediately.

"You actually wore it," Ron breathes hoarsely, his fingers reach out and grasp onto the fabric, as if it has suddenly gotten softer now that Draco's wearing it, "I didn't think you would."

"You should know me better than that Weasley," Draco says, a little mock-hurt seeping into his teasing voice. He brings the fabric to his face and inhales deeply, locking his eyes with the blue ones before him to gauge the boy's reaction when he purrs: "it smells _so nice_."

Ron cannot help but groan when he is so blatantly reminded of last night, and Harry will probably kill him if he ever happens to find out, but the intense work-out the raven gave his team is _not_ the reason he is exhausted, Draco's work-out is. But _Merlin_, if it isn't worth every single tense muscle in his body.

"You look good in red Draco," Ron murmurs mutely, pulling in the frailer frame that inch closer, "_really_ good."

"Are you insinuating there are colours I don't look good in freckles?" Draco's eyebrow arches higher, and Ron laughs aloud, that warm, hearty laugh that makes Draco's stomach do a summersault.

"I would never," he teases back, his hands finding the small of Draco's back on their own accord, "though I have to admit seeing you dressed in my things will always be one of the sexiest things I can imagine."

This time it is Draco's laugh that chatters through the great hall, his eyes smiling along which means this is _real_.

"Wait until you see me in garters Weasley," the blonde quips, and before Ron can even as much as _moan_ at the simple thought, he tugs the red head closer and kisses his lip, tasting him and feeling the broad body encase his completely.

Vaguely, he can hear the collective gasp of _everyone_ in the great hall, but it is ostentatiously ignored. Secretly, he revels in the fact that this really makes them even more of a couple—because only _real_ boyfriends wear their lover's jerseys.

To erase the sappy thoughts from his head, he pulls away from the kiss and bites the plump upper lip, _hard_. When he leaves for Slytherin table he throws a playful: "don't fall off that broom Weasley, or you won't be getting any for a month!" over his shoulder, but only to remind himself of who's in charge.

Draco is glad that their clothing calamities have finally come to their end. At least now, the next time he chooses to obey his lover's wishes and wear the boy's items, he will be able to do so without having to be bothered with idiotic questions.

**AN: I wrote these three little parts a couple of months ago but I still love them ^^ I can't help it I'm just... god, head over heels for this piece. I know that's probably all kinds of vain, but hey, sue me. Pff.**


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